


You're Not Always Going To Feel This Way

by Mellow_Yellow



Series: Adventures in Babysitting [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Trapped in Cars, Winter Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellow_Yellow/pseuds/Mellow_Yellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The snow storm had snuck up on Ian like a wily, unpredictable winter ninja, and that was his story and he was sticking to it, and he didn’t care what Mickey or Lip or Fiona had to say about weather reports and storm forecasts and polar vortexes, so everyone could just shut up about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Not Always Going To Feel This Way

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a [photo](http://www.unnecessaryumlaut.com/?p=6925) of cars trapped on Lake Shore Drive during Snowmageddon for reference.

At first, it was just a flurry, a gentle, non-threatening flurry of adorable snowflakes. 

It was kind of pretty actually, the delicate shapes drifting softly from the sky. Ian had always loved the view in general driving down Lake Shore Drive, and this was the first time he’d been behind the wheel in a while, not to mention in the snow, and the view was, dare he say, almost magical.

With the lake frozen white and solid on his left, and the skyline barely visible in the white haze on his right, he was feeling more balanced than he had all day.

“Look, Yev!” Ian said, glancing behind him at the baby strapped in a carseat in the back. “Snow!”

Yevgeny made an appreciative baby noise. Ian watched in the rearview mirror the way his wide eyes stayed glued to the back of Ian’s head. Mickey said the staring was creepy, but Ian thought Yevgeny just liked keeping careful track of all the characters in his baby world so far, like a tiny director.

Ian also thought it might be an object permanence thing. But then, at nearly nine months old the baby should’ve grown out of that by now, if the parenting magazine Mickey kept squirreled away in the bathroom was anything to go by (and Ian was half tempted to ask Mickey what he thought, but that would mean breaking the fourth wall and admitting that everybody in the Milkovich house was well aware of his obsession with the magazine and Mickey would get all gruff and embarrassed, and it would be a whole thing), so he wasn’t sure if he and Mickey and Svetlana should be worried yet.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on infant developmental concerns for long, because as soon as he noticed the flurry, it wasn’t a flurry anymore. It became a storm.

The snow was coming down thicker and faster, piling up on the windshield of the old town car almost faster than the wipers could clear it away. The traffic around him slowed to a crawl. The car didn’t exactly handle like a dream in the snow, and Ian felt his shoulders begin to tense, the anti-lock brakes making his feet shake.

“Balls,” he muttered to himself. This might not be good.

The trip to Lincoln Park Zoo had been a spur of the moment thing, like most things in Ian’s life that ended up having terrible consequences tended to be. He should’ve expected this.

Earlier, he’d been sitting in the Milkovich house as activity swirled around him, Svetlana and the other girls rushing to get to the Rub N Tug, Mickey hollering about leaving on time for once for the love of _god_ , a few of his brothers drifting shiftily in and out, shoving and laughing with each other, and Ian had been feeling isolated.

Yev had been sitting in his lap, staring contently up at Ian’s face, and Ian had been staring sightlessly at the chipped, uneven coffee table in front of him.

It made him feel like the crazy lady in The Bell Jar (Lip had been on his ass lately to finish up the reading he’d missed, to focus on catching up with school shit so he could get his diploma, because this was important Ian, he could still graduate if he would just focus for _once_ ). He didn’t love reading, but the book had kept his attention for a while, and he’d kept thinking of it after he was done with it, which was unusual.

And now he couldn’t help but think of it again, feeling like the still, quiet, empty center of a tornado while activity rushed around him.

He felt disconnected, like everything was happening at a distant remove. The more he noticed it, the more panicked he began to feel, and the less able to do anything about it. His arms tightened slightly around Yevgeny. The weight of the baby in his lap felt like the only thing anchoring him from drifting away.

Then he felt someone nudge him on the knee. “Hey.” Ian blinked and looked up. Mickey was looming over him, a frown on his face. “You okay?”

Ian nodded. He was okay. He just needed to snap out of it, and he’d be okay.

“You sure you want to watch the kid today?” Mickey pressed, gesturing at Yevgeny with his chin. “You don’t have to. Fiona offered. You could just relax, hang out, watch TV, do whatever.”

Even through his apathy, Ian felt a pang. He’d been doing good for a while, _so good_ , everyone said so, and he’d let himself believe, hesitantly at first but then with more confidence, that maybe he’d leveled out for good. He knew without asking that Mickey had also settled into that tenuous stability. They’d found the right cocktail! Therapy was working! Things were back to normal!

But now he was moping on the couch again, and Mickey was back to worrying about him, and Ian could feel the dulled but noticeable tug, the insistent threat of exhaustion (and depression, his lizard brain reminded him hostilely, depression, _depression_ ) at the edge of everything.

Fuck, but he didn’t want to be this way. He knew he was just torturing himself wanting for impossible things, but it was hard to resist when the couch felt like it was sucking him down into the ether, and he kept thinking the words over and over anyway, like a wish.

“Hey,” Mickey said again. This time he reached out and cupped Ian’s cheek. Ian blinked again, as always a little startled by  physical affection when they weren’t alone, even if the hoards of people taking up space in the Milkovich house had quickly grown to not give a shit what Ian and Mickey did together.

Mickey sat beside him and Ian let himself be jostled, then leaned in a little so they were pressed together, shoulder to hip.

There was a shift, nothing visible, but Ian felt it in his whole body. It felt like he wasn’t alone in the eye of the tornado anymore. Ian still felt stuck there, sure, but now Mickey was there beside him, too.

Also there was the baby, sitting heavily in his lap, sturdy like a little pony. Ian didn’t remember Liam ever being this heavy, but Mickey and his brothers had assured him all Milkoviches were chubby little kids.

He looked down at Yevgeny and felt the corner of his mouth lift at the face of the baby staring at him so solemnly. “It’s okay. Me and the little monster’ll be fine together.”

“Do you want me to drive you somewhere?” Mickey asked. This was a tactic Mickey had stumbled upon that was startlingly effective, the offer of a change of scenery.

“No, that’s okay,” Ian said slowly. He tilted his head to the side, eyeing Mickey for weakness. “But maybe could I have the car for this afternoon?”

“It’s gonna snow later,” Mickey said, not necessarily a no, but a carefully worded probably-not, so Ian desisted.

But then, as Mickey got up and finished getting ready and the hookers and the brothers drifted out of the house, nobody took the car. It was left in the driveway, and in the end, that was all it took for a plan to begin to form in his mind.

The Lincoln Park Zoo was free, which was perfect, because Ian was broke. And it had all the lights set up for Christmas, and it wasn’t that far away, he could take the Milkovich car and zip over with Yevgeny and they could look at all the animals in the snow for a few hours, and it would be just what Ian needed. Time away from the house, out of the neighborhood, alone but for the comforting, nonjudgmental company of the baby while he snapped himself out of whatever this moody shit was that was dragging him down. 

And now he was stranded in the fucking snow on Lake Shore Drive with a baby in the back wearing nothing but a hand-me-down puffer bodysuit.

It was kind of miraculous, watching wall-to-wall traffic slow down to a crawl, then an actual stop, like there was a larger traffic jam up ahead, a bus or a truck spun out on the slick road, and then snow was piling up steadily in between the vehicles, until there was nowhere to go, confining them all like a spider web made of snow.

Ian kind of couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Glancing out the window, the motorists on either side of him wore expressions of identical astonishment. Good lord, that was a lot of snow. His mouth hung open slightly as he stared.

He wondered if Mickey and Svetlana and everyone at the Alibi were standing at the window, similarly mesmerized by the sudden deluge of snow. Then he remembered where he was, and fuck. Mickey was going to have his ass, and not in a hot way. 

Almost like he’d been summoned, Ian felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and when he checked the caller ID, he saw Mickey’s name. Groaning internally, Ian answered.

“What’s up?” he said. Ian could hear the muffled sounds of the Alibi in the back, shrill Russian voices, Kev’s booming voice cracking some kind of joke.

“Where are you?” Mickey sounded a little out of control, right on the edge of flipping out but reining it in, just barely.

“Um,” Ian hedged.

“You’re not at the house,” Mickey pushed on. “Svetlana just came back here in a panic. Is the baby with you?” The note of anxiety was there, subtle, but Ian heard it anyway, and it made him flush in shame. 

“Yes, he’s fine, Yev’s fine. He’s in the car with me,” Ian rushed to assure him. “We were gonna go to the zoo, but it was closed, and now we’re…” He had to pause and survey the scene around him, trying to find a way to describe it that didn’t sound too dire. “We’re kind of trapped in the snow on the highway?” 

“Of course the zoo is closed!” Mickey exploded. There it was. The short fuse had ignited. Goodbye, Mickey’s barely-there control, we hardly knew ye, Ian thought glumly. “There’s a fucking snow storm bearing down on us!”

“Well I know that _now_ —” Ian tried to interrupt.

But Mickey wasn’t having it, he was hitting his ranting stride now. “Why didn’t you check online, or tell me where you were going, or I don’t know, leave a fucking _note_ so me and Lana didn’t think you’d fucking snatched the baby and _run_.”

Shame could be a physical pain, Ian was coming to learn, and he could feel it now, the hot-red flush rising painfully up his chest. He could hear it in Mickey’s voice, the fear that that was even a possibility, of Ian kidnapping Yevgeny and putting him in danger, putting himself in danger, and after how low and mopey Ian had been lately, it was probably the first place Mickey’s mind had shot to. And Mickey had probably been guilty to even think that, to doubt Ian, but it wasn’t Mickey’s fault, was it? It was Ian, Ian who had careened forward on impulse with a baby that wasn’t even related to him, not thinking to tell Mickey or Svetlana or anyone really where he was going, and why had he done that, he tried to convince himself that things were different now and he wouldn’t be careless like that anymore, but that’s what had happened, wasn’t it, without Ian even giving a thought to the consequences. What if they had crashed somewhere, what if they really did freeze to death out here, and all because Svetlana and Mickey had been stupid enough to trust Ian to watch their kid—

 “Ian.” It took a beat for Mickey’s voice to penetrate Ian’s wild, twisting thoughts. “ _Ian_.”

“What.” Ian’s voice was croaky, and his throat was sore, but focusing on Mickey’s words helped the stupid whirlwind of crazy thoughts quiet some.

“It’s okay,” Mickey said. He took a deep breath, the inhale-exhale a whoosh in Ian’s ear. “Sorry. I lost my shit there for a second. But it’s fine. They’ll clear the roads off soon, it’ll all be fine.” It sounded like he was trying to convince both Ian and whoever was on his end of the phone, most likely Svetlana.

Which just made the guilt bubble up again, and Ian began grasping somewhat hysterically for a solution. “Maybe we can bail out and just head toward the city, we’re right by Navy Pier.”

“That’s your big plan? Wander around in snow drifts until you end up frozen to death in Lower Wacker like hobo-Batman?”

Ian sighed. “I didn’t say it was a _perfect_ plan.”

In the background on Mickey’s end, he could hear chattering in Russian. There was the sounds of a struggle, Mickey hissing a sentence that was at least two-thirds swear words, then a loud sigh. “Svetlana—would you _relax_ , I’m asking him, okay?—is casually interested in how her baby’s doing,” Mickey said testily. “And she’s not being aggressive or scary about it at all.”

Ian looked behind himself again, at the baby reclining placidly in his car seat. Not seeing any other option, he put the car in park, leaving the engine running and the heat on high.

“Hold on,” he said, and put the cell phone down on the armrest. Throwing up a quick thanks to god or the kaballah monster or whoever was listening that the Milkoviches had recently liberated a Lincoln town car the size of a small studio apartment, Ian crawled easily into the back seat.

Yevgeny watched his progress avidly, his wide blue eyes fixed on Ian’s face. “Bah!” he said, waving a little fist in the air regally. “Bah- _bah_!”

“Hey, little man,” Ian said, settling down beside him. The car was still toasty warm, but he knew there was a time element here. They had about a three quarters of a tank of gas. The heat was as high as it would go. Nonsensically, he wished Lip were there. He’d know how much gas running the heat used, or how Ian could conserve energy, or how long they had til the battery died.

He picked up the phone again. “Yev’s fine. You want to talk to him?”

Mickey’s eye roll was almost audible through the phone. “Yeah, I wanted to finish up the chat we were having earlier about gas prices.”

There was the sound of a light scuffle, and Ian waited, running his knuckles gently down Yevgeny’s soft baby cheek, smiling slightly at how he cooed. Then he heard Svetlana. “Ian?” She didn’t sound pissed, per se, but she didn’t have the gentlest of voices in general, and right now she definitely sounded strained.

“Lana, hey,” Ian said quietly, rushing to fill the pregnant silence. “I’m sorry about this, I should’ve told you where I was going, or just…stayed home. I’m sorry, fuck. I’m so sorry.”

His babbling apology seemed to disarm her. “Ian,” she said again, this time on a sigh. “Is fine, I was worried, but…is fine. Just, stay in car. Wait.”

And yeah, looking out at the snow swirling just outside the glass, even the thought of leaving the car and trying to walk somewhere else, especially with a baby, sounded stupid as hell. It was easier to see that now, when he wasn’t panicking.

“Yeah, of course.” He glanced at the baby, held the phone to his mouth. “Right, Yev?”

Yev bubbled out a funny cooing sound, ending on a squeal. Kid was mouthy when he wanted to be, that was for sure. Ian could hear Svetlana laugh, sounding relieved. He put the phone back to his own ear.

“We’re just chilling in the back seat. Yev was telling me about this girl at Debbie’s daycare that owes him money, we were gossiping about you and the girls at the Rub N Tug, you know. Passing the time.” He started out shaky, but the longer he chattered, the more even he felt. It was okay, he told himself. He just had to maintain.

Svetlana sighed yet again, and Ian could practically hear her eye roll too, and then she handed the phone back to Mickey.

“What’s it looking like on the roads?” Mickey asked. He sounded much more relaxed now, which made Ian feel incrementally less guilty. “Any sign of the plows?”

“There’s not a lot of room for plows, Mick,” Ian said. “There’s nothing but cars. They’re probably going to have to dig us out one by one.”

Mickey groused for a while, complaining about city workers and unions intentionally slowing down plow work if they could make a buck (Mickey had become pretty hilariously anti-organized labor since he’d started pushing his brothers to take up more under-the-table construction jobs where they could), and Ian just let him chatter, stroking Yevgeny’s cheek, trying to keep his heart rate steady and not freak out again.

And then Mickey just…stayed on the line. Ian didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t for Mickey to idly chat as they waited for something to happen with the cars trapped on the highway. Mickey wasn’t one for aimless banter, but he was clearly making an effort here, getting a little wacky as they hit the one hour-mark. Ian’s battery was starting to die, which was another headache that was making him nervous.

“In a world where one man is stuck in the car, in the snow, with one creepy baby,” Mickey was saying, his voice going Moviefone-deep, “only Ian Gallagher can defend against… _the_ _snowpocalypse_.”

Ian snorted. “Stop.”

“Snowmageddon?” There was a pause, then the sounds of fingers snapping in inspiration. “End of Days: Snow Way Out?”

“You’re not funny,” Ian said. He was watching the fuel gauge on the dashboard. It was edging toward three-quarters empty. Even with the engine idling, he could feel the car getting colder.

Shrugging out of his coat, Ian freed the baby from his car seat and wrapped him up in it, snuggling him tight in his lap. Yevgeny didn’t seem too upset by the change, just cooing and tilting his head back to stare up at Ian. 

“I’m really sorry about this, little man,” Ian whispered to him. He kissed him on the forehead, then rubbed his cheek against the downy fuzz at the crown of the baby’s head.

His thoughts were ricocheting painfully around his head again, knocking into his skull like angry birds. He’d driven knowingly into a snowstorm, with a baby, with a tiny baby who had no way to defend or take care of itself and was completely dependent on Ian, why did he _do_ this, what was he _thinking_?

Dimly, he noticed that Mickey had fallen silent on his end of the phone. “Ian,” Mickey said. “Are you alone on the road right now?”

Ian frowned. Of course he wasn’t alone. The highway was a parking lot. He could barely make out the shape of the van stopped beside him or the truck on his left anymore through the wind and snow, but they were there.

“Um, no,” Ian said. “It’s rush hour, or it was, before we got snowed in.”

“Yeah, I know. So there’s tons of other people out there, stuck right there with you. Did every idiot in the city of Chicago somehow magically collect on Lake Shore, or is it possible that a bunch of people just like you made an honest mistake?”

Ian groaned, ending on a weak laugh. “That’s so fucking corny, Mick.”

“I'm just saying,” Mickey insisted. “I know how you get, and maybe going to the zoo was dumb, but nobody could've predicted you'd get stuck on the road." Ian didn't both arguing, even though he disagreed on a cellular level. "Where are you on Lake Shore, by the way?”

By now the snow had slowed, at least marginally, but the damage was down, deep drifts nearly blocking Ian’s view of the cars around him. He craned his neck, trying to catch sight of a sign. It was mostly obscured by snow, but if he squinted—

“I’m right by the Franklin exit,” he said. He tilted his head as he studied the sign. That looked like an F-R-A, at least. “I think. Why?”

“Well, they’ll probably dig you out first, way earlier than the poor assholes at the end by Broadway.”

That made sense. “You might be right. So that’s something.”

There was a pause. “Hey, my phone’s about to die,” Mickey said. “I need to head home and plug it in, just hang tight, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ian said, and said goodbye as Mickey hung up. 

He waited, hoping that Mickey would call him back in twenty minutes, than a half hour, than an hour, but he didn’t. The car was getting colder. He could feel it seeping through the frame, the whipping wind making the town car creak on its wheels. 

Outside the car, Ian began to make out the shapes of people struggling through the snow. A few people looked like cops or paramedics, and they were checking in windows maybe one hundred feet away, fighting to stay upright in the wind. He could just make out a cop ushering a lady back into her car who had decided to make a break for it. It looked like most people were waiting it out, it seemed, which made him feel, if not better, than at least not alone in his dread and misery within the frozen car.

He glanced down. Predictably, Yevgeny was still staring at him.

“You’re a really good little baby, you know that?” Ian told him, and he meant it. Even Liam, the calmest of calm babies and now toddlers, would be fussing by now. “You’re so relaxed. I don’t think you really get that from your mom or dad, you know.”

Ian tilted his head speculatively, and the baby copied him, tilting his big head slightly to the side. Ian snorted.

“I wonder what you’ll be like when you’re older, you know?” he told him, because the sound of his own voice echoing in the car was better than the forlorn wisping sounds of the storm outside. “You’re already so different than Mickey, and you’re way too smiley and calm to take after Svetlana. It’s so weird, you know, that you’re growing to be your own person, just like, blooming. Like a little plant.” He poked Yevgeny gently in his chubby cheek, and the baby cooed. “Plant baby.” 

And Yevgeny if did grow up to be so different from Mickey and Svetlana, why not, Ian reflected. It wasn’t like any of the Gallaghers were too much like Frank or Monica, except for Ian. There was no escape from Monica’s DNA, it appeared. And it wasn’t like Frank was really his anyway, and who really knew what his Uncle Clayton was like, aside from being kind of a spineless dishrag.

So it was just the brain thing, really, that Ian could show for his parental inheritance. Everything else he could fight against—being flighty, irresponsible, careless with the people who loved him, but the goddamn mental chemistry of his own brain would always be there, waiting in the wings to betray him.

He sighed heavily. There was silence for a moment in the car, and then a similar, higher-pitched wheezing sound, and Ian looked down at Yevgeny in surprise. The little shit was imitating him.

“You making fun of me, tough guy?” Ian asked, nudging Yevgeny with his chin. The baby drooled. Ian took that as a yes. Maybe he was getting a little too maudlin, he supposed.

Settling back, Ian let himself drift. It had been almost three hours since they'd first pulled to a stop on Lake Shore, now. He didn’t know what their Plan B was going to be. Eventually city workers or cops or something would have to come around and check the cars, right, when the snow let up? Probably. He held Yevgeny a little closer. At least the baby still seemed warm and content. He would be getting hungry soon. He’d probably need to change his diaper at some point, in the backseat of the car, which he was not looking forward to.

There was a knock on the window, and Ian jerked to look to his right.

For a second, he thought maybe they really had frozen to death in the car, and he was seeing some kind of beyond-the-grave premonition. That there was no way the short, red-faced guy wrapped in a puffy winter coat he was seeing out the window was really Mickey, standing shivering in the whirling snow.

Then the guy's mouth moved, and even though Ian couldn’t hear him, he could make out the words: _Open the fucking door, asshole._  

Scrambling to comply, Ian shoved at the door handle, the metal sticking with the cold, until it cracked open enough to let in the wind and snow and sleet and eventually, Mickey. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Mickey said, diving in and shutting the door behind him. His entire face was flushed with cold, the tip of his nose bright red. There was snow on his shoulders and on the thick hat on his head, the circular Bulls insignia barely visible. He had a bulky backpack on his back.

“Mickey, what the _fuck_ ,” Ian bit out, automatically reaching out to rub at Mickey's arms and shoulders, trying to work some heat back into him. The inside of the car was still relatively snug with residual warmth, and it was especially apparent now that Mickey was beside him, half-frozen.

Mickey batted Ian’s hands away, pulling off his damp mittens to rub his hands together furiously on his legs. He pulled off the backpack and set it on the floor. His teeth were chattering as he looked at Ian, then down at Yevgeny, who was, if possible, even more wide-eyed than before. “You guys okay?” 

There were no words. Ian just stared at him, probably doing a passable impression of Yevgeny at this point. 

“Before you say anything, I’ll have you know I was not the only idiot on the bus trying to get out to the cars trapped on Lake Shore,” Mickey said defensively, his voice still shaking from the cold, like Ian had been gearing up to make fun of him. “There were actually three of us, so fuck you.” He unzipped the backpack and pulled out a thick blanket. "Here, Svetlana packed me some blankets. There's some snacks in there too, but they're mostly for the baby meat, too."

“What—how, just, how?” Ian felt his mouth open and close, open and close, goldfish-style. He nonetheless took the blanket and began unfolding it, spreading it to cover all three of them in the back seat.

Mickey shrugged as he shook out snow from his coat and scarf as best he could onto the floor, then reached over and pulled Yevgeny toward his chest, unzipping enough to wrap the baby in near his body. Ian let him, too surprised to put up much of a fight. "Here, go turn down the heat, the battery's not going to last for more than another hour or two."

Ian looked at him for a second, then leaned forward to crawl far enough that he could reach the dashboard. He turned down the heat, then settled back with Mickey, who was pulling out another blanket to wrap the baby in. He watched Mickey take out a bottle that looked filled with frozen juice. "Shit." He shook it ruefully. "So much for juice, huh pal?" he said to the baby.

Ian tried to get his attention. "Mickey, _how are you here_?"

“The snow’s let up some,” Mickey explained breezily. “They were able to plow a few of the bus routes, so I could get downtown far enough to hoof it out to you here.” He shrugged, like this was the most reasonable explanation in the history of the world.

Ian didn’t have to look out the window to know that it was still blustery and miserable outside, that it was probably almost below zero out there. He had a feeling it probably took a lot more effort than simply catching a bus for Mickey to get to them.

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Mickey’s chilly hand, squeezing.

“Figured I could sit on my ass at home waiting, or come out and wait with you here,” Mickey said gruffly. “It’s not a big deal.” He shifted Yevgeny around, then unwrapped him Ian's coat, holding it out for Ian. "Put this back on before you freeze, man, come on." 

Ian nodded blearily, slipping the coat back on. He really had been getting cold, and he shivered at the sudden insulation. He moved closer so he was pressed against Yevgeny’s warm shape beneath Mickey's coat, and in so doing, Mickey’s body, still cold and damp from the storm outside.

He couldn't believe he wasn't alone in the storm anymore, that Mickey was actually there with them, that Ian wouldn't have the chance to fuck things up anymore by his lonesome.

Mickey reached forward, touching Ian’s cheek softly. “Hey, are you crying?” he asked in disbelief. He frowned, squeezing Ian’s shoulder. “Hey man, don’t cry, c’mon.”

Ian sniffed, rubbing hard at his eyes with his free hand. “I’m not crying, you’re crying.” His throat felt tight. Fuck, he hated crying, and feeling hopeless, and helpless against his own uncontrollable mind. “I’m just sorry you had to come all the way out here, and about…” Ian trailed off, unsure where to start. For getting his kid trapped in a freezing car, for not telling anyone where he was going, for worrying him and Svetlana, for being so sad lately. The list was pretty endless.

Mickey nudged him with his shoulder, then threw an arm around him and yanked Ian close. Weirdly, the roughness of the touch was comforting. It was nice that Mickey didn’t handle him like he was fragile.

They were silent for a while, Yevgeny cuddled in between them, the inside of the car not as cold as it had seemed just twenty minutes ago. It felt secure, safe almost.

If only Ian had been able to feel this steady earlier, at the house, before he'd decided to take the car out, and get them trapped on the highway. He was feeling exhausted again as the hateful thoughts resurfaced, unbidden. Fuck. Being low fucking sucked. He hated this. He should be happy Mickey had come all this way to find him, but instead he was feeling numb again. _Fuck._

He didn't voice any of these worries, but Mickey seemed to notice his sudden stillness anyway. “You’re not always going to feel this way, you know,” Mickey said quietly, making Ian blink, refocusing. 

It was something Mickey had taken to saying lately, now that he could tell Ian was feeling low. Ian wasn’t sure where he’d picked it up. He didn’t know why it worked so well, but it did.

“I know,” Ian said, trying to keep his voice light. It sounded a little strained. “I know.” It sounded more believable now. The more he said it, the more he even believed it.

He leaned further into Mickey, and Mickey let him, making room in his arms for both Ian, keeping Yevgeny in the warmest place tucked against his chest.

Somehow, they fell asleep like that, or at least Ian nodded off. When he woke up to a rapping on the window, the highway partially plowed enough to let a few paramedics and firemen begin going from car to car, motioning for Ian and Mickey to unlock the doors, Ian was curled under Mickey’s arm, the baby warm and snug between them, also conked out.

As the cops, somewhat alarmed at the sight of a baby stuck in the car with two shivering boys hunched over him, hustled to get them more blankets and get them out of the car and into a bus pulled up near the exit, snow dug out for a special escape route apparently, Ian was too cold and tired to really focus on feeling numb or low anymore.

Mickey kept his hand on Ian’s arm the entire time, Yevgeny on one hip, but Ian pulled tight to his other side. He didn't let go until they were on the bus, then on another bus, then eventually back in the Milkovich house hours later, Svetlana and the other Russian hookers clucking and fussing over all of them (although Svetlana had taken the time to punch Ian on the shoulder, hard, _fuck,_ she had an arm on her), and Yevgeny was asleep in his crib, snuggled up with a truly unreasonable number of blankets.

"I'm sorry about the car," Ian whispered, still pressed to Mickey's side on the couch, the general din and activity of the house making the couch feel almost cocoon-like, containing just the two of them.

Shrugging, Mickey settled more fully against him. "It's okay," he said. He sounded weary but resigned. "We'll figure it out."

And Ian believed him, letting himself close his eyes and drift.

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this story can be found in this [article](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/02/02/chicago-blizzard-stranded_n_817771.html), which briefly mentions a guy heroically-slash-idiotically coming to find his partner in the epic storm of 2011, so she wouldn't have to sit by herself waiting to get plowed out. We haven't had a snowstorm in Chicago yet this year, but with Polar Vortex: Part Deux potentially coming our way, there's always a chance! 
> 
> This was meant to be the last entry to Adventures In Babysitting, but inspirations struck, so one more fic in the series will be coming at you in the next day or two. As always, thanks for all your support!
> 
> Come hang out on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ohjafeeljadefinitelyfeel) with me, yall.


End file.
